


One for Fiction

by thepinupchemist



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Library, Barista Steve Rogers, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, Librarian Bucky, Librarians, Libraries, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Self-Esteem Issues, Shy Bucky Barnes, Tattooed Steve Rogers, thick bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/pseuds/thepinupchemist
Summary: In the heart of a modern library, children's librarian Bucky Barnes meets his match in the form of the new barista: Steve Rogers. He doesn't think there's any way his crush could be requited -- but sometimes librarians don't know everything.





	One for Fiction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Remembered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remembered/gifts).



> Warning: an angry library patron yells at Bucky and calls Bucky the "f" slur. It happens once and briefly.
> 
> Thank you to themcgeek for the beta read!

**One for Fiction**

**Soundtrack: Ravens in the Library – S.J. Tucker**

 

There was a new barista at the library.

Bucky’s district prided themselves on hyper-modern facilities – 3D printers, a recording studio, cosplay contests, video equipment, and, most importantly, a spacious cafe space in which to fuel up and crack open some books. Library staff – and Bucky considered himself the #1 fan – enjoyed free drip coffee and a hearty ten percent off of everything else. His predilection toward caffeinated beverages built him a repertoire with the baristas but –

He’d never thought one was hot before.

The new barista stood, at most, a few inches over five feet, near a foot shorter than Bucky. A whip-thin body barely filled a blue button-down, and from beneath the sleeves, tattoos spiraled down over skinny arms and knobbly, ring-covered hands. A crooked nose hung below blue eyes and above a smile too wide for his narrow face.

His nametag read ‘Steve’, and when he glanced up to see Bucky at the counter, his smile widened.

Fuck. Fuck, Bucky was so gay. He was so gay and he was gay in particular for barista Steve.

In comparison to Steve, and in comparison to the widely female staff of the library, Bucky loomed over humanity, a lumbering thing of a human. He topped out at a healthy 6’2, his shoulders smacked against doorways, and sometimes in fitting rooms he cried because he got stuck in pairs of jeans, thighs too big to fit into anything sold at a reasonable price.

Steve didn’t look like he got stuck in jeans and cried about it.

“Want some drip?” asked Steve, eyeing the empty mug cradled between Bucky’s bear-paw hands. His gaze skirted over the Stark-made prosthesis, but he didn’t linger on it like some people did.

“Oh, uh,” was about all that Bucky could manage to get out in the face of the most handsome barista he had ever seen.

To his relief, America intervened, pulling Bucky’s mug out of his hands. “Bucky likes getting a surprise drink. Just charge him for a latte.”

While America started Bucky’s drink, Steve rang him up and took his money. When he returned Bucky’s debit card, he stuck out his other hand. “I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you. How long have you worked for the library district?”

Bucky’s hand should have dwarfed Steve’s, but his fingers were long, and his palms wide. The whole thing was ice-cold – poor circulation, probably. Bucky cleared his throat to buy him some time to formulate a reply. “Um. Four years-ish. It’s – this is a good place.”

The conversation fizzled out like a disappointing illegal firework. Bucky did this. He _always_ did this. He didn’t used to suck so much at social interaction, and then there was the whole getting blown up in Iraq thing, after which he became The Worst at Humans. And in the face of someone so attractive? He was doomed.

America passed Bucky his drink in his Wonder Woman mug, complete with intricate latte art. He heard the cafe supervisors, having been required to fabricate their own employee reviews like the rest of the library, invested in latte art classes for their staff.

Bucky muttered a thanks and hightailed it to the children’s section, the place over which he presided, where the only people that bothered him were little humans that needed help finding the stories they liked to read, or wanted to know what happened to his arm.

**

The night of May thirty-first, Bucky’s boss put him in charge of dismantling their spring-themed window display for the June idea he pitched at their last librarian huddle – a pride month display bursting with flags and queer literature. He ensured that all but a couple books he put in the window would have happy endings, because he wished somebody had done that for him, as a kid.

The library district prided themselves on their forward-thinking nature and inclusivity, one of the many aspects that Bucky loved about his job. At one of their sister libraries, they’d made pronoun buttons for staff to pin on their lanyards, which they kept in a basket in the staff room. His he/him button nestled proudly beneath his rainbow flag pin, and below his “I like big books and I cannot lie” button.

Bucky wondered if Steve had noticed his rainbow pin. With Bucky’s luck, Steve didn’t bat for his team. He gave off the air of a pretty hipster that pinged a queer-dar due to openmindedness around gender expression, but that ultimately preferred women – something about the tattoos and the heavy silver rings.

As Bucky secured a string of miniature pride flags to the top of the window with scotch tape, a deep, rumbling voice spoke at his back.

“Hey, Bucky, do you –”

Bucky leapt about a foot into the air. His legs tangled in his stepladder perch, and he tumbled onto his ass in spectacular fashion, backside connecting with the carpet with a dramatic _thud,_ tape dispenser careening across the floor.

“Whoa. Sorry about that,” said beautiful barista Steve, palms out in front of him, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s – that’s okay,” Bucky said. He climbed to his feet, rubbing a hand over his sore ass. Would that bruise? “Can I – what do you need?” What do you need? Great. Good going, Barnes. Make the nice, attractive man feel like he bothered you.

Steve shuffled in place. He grabbed the back of his neck. “The kids in the computer lab – they’re, uh, looking at porn? I don’t know what I do in this situation.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky said, quiet enough for patrons not to hear, but enough to get a smirk out of Steve, “I’ll take care of it.”

Steve trailed behind him, peering around Bucky’s too-large frame as he prowled into the computer lab. A constant rotation of pre-teen boys appropriated the space on the regular, a demographic that endeavored to find what they could get away with, peppered with actually sitting down,whereupon they alternated between Fortnite and Minecraft. Sometimes Bucky almost liked them, but mostly, he wanted to strangle them.

The moment that the boys saw Bucky striding toward them, they slapped each other’s arms, whispering _dudedudedude someone’s coming_ , until the centermost culprit clicked out of the browser. They turned innocent expressions to Bucky, who folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

“Fellas,” he said evenly, “We’ve talked about this. This isn’t stealing the sugar packets, this isn’t running and wrestling with each other, and this isn’t being too loud. You’re booted for the night. Brayden? This was your last warning. We’re writing up a ban, and you and your parents will talk to district security to get it lifted. Out, you’re done for the night.”

They grumbled, a chorus of _ugh, that’s not fair!_ rising up as the group consensus. They exited games and zipped up backpacks, all under Bucky’s watchful eye. He herded them out, and supervised the entire exit.

When Bucky turned back to Steve, he rolled his eyes.

“I’m guessing this is normal?” Steve said.

“Yeah,” replied Bucky, relieved to have a handle on the situation, for once, “They’re...characters. Brayden’s got an incident report list as long as my arm. Anyway, you’re allowed to tell ‘em to get out. You don’t have to come get me if you don’t want – or. Uh. I mean, you can come get me if you prefer, it’s, ah, whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

“Duly noted,” said Steve, with a solemn nod.

“Fun fact about the library,” Bucky went on, “As long as no one can see your computer screen, you’re allowed to look at porn. That’s protected under intellectual freedom.”

Steve raised a brow. “Interesting.”

They meandered back to Bucky’s display. The night, as far as nights went, was a quiet one for the library, and the cafe was a ghost town, but for the group of teenagers with bags of McDonald’s scattered across the table and AP History books open on their laps.

“Where’d everyone get their pronoun pins?” asked Steve, as Bucky pushed his stepladder upright, collected his tape dispenser, and climbed back up to finish hanging the flag garland.

“They make ‘em at one of our sister libraries,” Bucky said, “Have a pin press over there and everything. I’m picking up a couple of shifts for one of the ladies over there next week; you want me to grab you some?”

See, Bucky used to be this smooth. He used to be this smooth all the time. Apparently, trauma and PTSD aside, he could still be smooth every once in a while.

A pleased little smile tilted beautiful Steve’s beautiful lips. He said, “That would be awesome. Do they have pride ones, too? Like your rainbow?”

Does Steve like men? Steve might like men. Be cool, Barnes. Don’t be weird.

“Yeah, they have everything,” Bucky replied.

“Could you grab me a he/him and a bisexual flag?” asked Steve.

“Y-Yeah,” Bucky said, cursing the skip in his voice.

Beautiful Steve was bi. Handsome barista Steve was bi! He liked men. He could like Bucky. Well, maybe. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself on that front. Once upon a time, Bucky’s muscle was lithe and neatly packaged, and both his arms were flesh and blood. Now his tummy hung a little bit and the muscle he built at the gym went on in bulk. In order to carry the weight of his Stark Industries prosthesis, he needed his whole, hardened, heavy frame.

He didn’t look like he used to, and he didn’t have the charisma he used to, either.

Shit. Why would Steve want somebody like him?

“Awesome,” Steve said, “Thanks, Bucky. That’s really cool of you. Do you – um – have any favorites?” He gestured to the pile of books he had yet to artfully arrange in his pride display.

“I like the happy ones,” Bucky replied, “I’m putting YA up, mostly. _A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue_ is a great one if you’re looking for something with a bisexual main character that’s an absolute disaster. He’s great. I mean he’s awful, but also great.”

“Sounds like he and I have some things in common,” drawled Steve, bone-dry and so, so pretty.

Bucky blushed. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so rather than embarrass himself, he offered a tentative smile. Steve smiled back, and Bucky’s heart wobbled off-kilter in his chest. No one’s smile had any business looking that good.

If nothing else, Bucky excelled at being useless and gay.

**

Steve pinned his pride buttons on his lanyard the moment that Bucky handed them to him. He turned that luminous smile on Bucky and thanked him, and Bucky, as usual, stumbled over his words as he tried to convey that it wasn’t any trouble and Steve didn’t need to thank him, which was probably the exact wrong thing to say.

Right out of high school, Bucky enlisted in the army. The recruiters hung around their school and set up tables inside, sweet-talking teenage guys like him. The promise of free college lured Bucky in, anddespite his parents’ misgivings about joining the military, he did. Their family didn’t make a lot of money; they couldn’t afford to send him to college, and Bucky didn’t want to be balls-deep in debt at twenty-one like most of the country.

Like most veterans, his relationship to his service was a turbulent one. He made friends and formed bonds he would never have elsewhere, but he returned home down one limb and out of all the charm he used to have. At one point in his life, Bucky was the suavest motherfucker on the planet, able to talk anyone into a kiss or a date or into bed. He prided himself on giving his partners a memorable experience.

But he couldn’t talk about being gay while he was in the army – Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had yet to be stamped out.

The guys knew about him, sort of, but they never discussed it – not until after they hung their hats and moved onto new stages in their lives.

After Bucky healed from his wounds, he took full advantage of the GI bill and dove headfirst into school, coping with nightmares and stress by focusing on schoolwork and different stress. The library hired him a few short months before he graduated with his Masters of Library and Information Science, as a tech, one of the folks that stood around and helped older folks figure out how to set up their StarkPhones and apply to jobs online.

He leapt at the opportunity when the youth services librarian retired and the position at last opened up, and the library welcomed him into his new position with open arms.

Bucky’s job meant everything to him. Libraries were a beacon of hope in a terrifying world, perhaps the one place that a person could go to learn for free. They offered classes for adults to learn new computer skills, free courses in American Sign Language and English as a second language. Bucky hosted storytime for children, and read children’s books on his own time so he knew which ones to pick out for curious learners. Parents came back to thank him for his choices, sometimes.

And sure, use of the cafe cost money, but the library considered it another amenity, not a business. The coffee and food were there to fuel lost people and strung-out students, to offer something warm to drink while one dove into a new read.

Bucky never got his charisma back, but being a librarian lent him a sense of purpose.

Even on days like these:

Being they were short a couple people, Bucky manned the front that morning, sustained by a raspberry white mocha that Steve made for him, the top on which he’d drawn a heart in the foam. The baristas were required to learn how to do that, Bucky knew, but that didn’t stop his insides from squirming all over at being given a heart by handsome barista Steve. Steve drew him different foam designs all the time, but the hearts were his favorite.

A patron whooshed through the doors, and before Bucky could open his mouth to greet him, he slammed his hands down on the front desk. Bucky jumped, eyes flicking to the bright red baseball cap on his head. Oh, no.

“I requested my book _two weeks ago_ ,” the guy said.

“Uh,” Bucky pushed out, “May I have your library card? I can look and see what the hold up is.”

“It’s Donald Trump’s book? You know the one. The newest one.”

Which, of course, they carried. The library carried everything, because that was what libraries did.

“Yes, sir, if I could just have your library card –”

“Oh, you’re one of _them_ ,” the patron said, apples of his cheeks flushing red with – anger? His eyes were glued to Bucky’s rainbow pin, lips twisted into a sneer. Bucky’s heart beat quicker. He lived and worked in a liberal area. To have somebody upset about his rainbow pin – that wasn’t everyday library business.

“You took me off the hold list, didn’t you? You did it on purpose,” the man gestured wildly, voice loud enough to garner the attention of the other people milling around the front of the library. From the cafe counter not ten feet away, Steve’s head turned toward the ruckus. Bucky wilted. He sucked at standing up for himself, and that Steve had to watch it? To see him wring his hands and stare with stupid doe-eyes at some asshole yelling at him? Less than ideal.

The guy continued. “You don’t want me to have my book! You’re one of those fucking special snowflake faggot --”

“Hey!”

Both Bucky and Yelling Asshole Man jerked their heads to see Steve prowl around out from behind the cafe space. He rolled up his sleeves, shoulders back and jaw set as though he were a man taller than Bucky. He said, “You can’t speak to him that way. Abusing our staff is against the patron code of conduct. It’s right there, on that wall.” He pointed to the poster no more than six inches from their heads, spelling out the rules of the library.

Evidently unmoved, Yelling Asshole Man barked back, “He took my book! Aren’t you concerned about that? Where’s your staff code of conduct, huh?”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Steve said, each word even and acid, “Do I need to call security?”

“You can’t make me leave,” Yelling Asshole Man snapped, “Not until I get my book.”

Steve went red to the tips of his ears. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened, like he might jump Yelling Asshole Man right then and there, but instead he turned his attention to Bucky. The fury sapped out of his face, and his voice went gentle to say, “Buck, I think Valkyrie’s upstairs. Would you mind getting her?”

“A’course,” muttered Bucky, more than happy to flee to find their security guard.

Valkyrie, a woman as tall as he was, with impressive biceps and a challenging stare, threw Yelling Asshole Man for a loop. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t clench her teeth, simply ushered the man out the door. Typically, she assured angry patrons that they could return when they calmed down, but she didn’t speak to Yelling Asshole Man at all, instead laser-focusing her death stare on him and chasing him out without a word.

Steve appeared at Bucky’s side. He placed a hand on his arm and asked, “Hey, are you all right?”

Bucky let out a shaking breath. “I’m really bad at the handling assholes thing,” he said.

“That’s okay. I’m really good at it,” Steve said. Then came the smile, that wonderful smile. Bucky’s panic receded just enough for him to turn a smile of his own back on Steve, brittle as it may have been.

“Thank you,” Bucky told him, and he meant it.

“Not a problem,” Steve replied. He patted Bucky’s arm, and rather than flinch of out being touched as he typically did, Bucky swayed into it, overcome by the candle he held for this poor, unsuspecting barista. Steve took it in stride, sliding his arm around Bucky’s waist to pull him into a side-hug.

“Seriously,” Steve added, “Anyone comes for you, I’ll come for them.”

Bucky wanted to say that he could handle himself fine. He could. He looked like he could, too. Not many folks picked a fight with him like Yelling Asshole Man did. Bucky swooped in for his coworkers on the regular like a hefty, one-armed avenging angel. But to step up for himself? Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his innate confidence like a child letting go of a balloon. Where did it go? Into the care of the unfeeling universe, that was where.

Having Steve in his corner kindled that ever-growing flame beneath Bucky’s ribcage. He wanted to gather Steve into his arms, to kiss his smiling mouth, to feel those cold hands on his chest and his his hair.

“You’re the best,” said Bucky. Again, the urge to kiss Steve bubbled to the surface, but he pushed it aside. Steve’s smile would have to be enough.

**

Four months in to Steve’s employment at the library, something finally broke. Bucky couldn’t time it to the minute, nor could he say what the exact catalyst happened to be, but on a September evening dotted with regular readers and students starting their semesters with a bang, Bucky came to visit the library cafe with his Wonder Woman mug in his hands.

Steve’s eyes gleamed. He didn’t smile. Instead, he set his mouth in a hard line, jaw firm and determined as it became when he rolled up his sleeves to deal with something unsavory.

Bucky searched his face. “You okay?” he asked. Talking to Steve wasn’t so bad, not after he got used to it.

“I want you to go on a date with me,” Steve said. Matter-of-fact, just like that.

“Oh.”

Steve’s face fell. “Do you not want to? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. Jeez, talk about coming on strong. I mean –”

“No, no,” Bucky rushed to interrupt, “I was just surprised. I wanna – why?”

“Why, what?” asked Steve.

“Why would you...want to go out on a date with me?” Bucky pushed the words out one by one.

Steve wrinkled his nose, incredulous. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m messed up, Steve,” Bucky explained. He might as well give Steve the dossier on James Buchanan Barnes and Everything That Was Wrong With Him. “I’m missing an arm, technically speaking. My brains are scrambled eggs. I’m bad at talking to everyone except for children. And then there’s _this_ whole situation.” He swept a hand over the expanse of his body.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What situation?”

“I’m – large.”

“Yeah, and I’m small. What about it?”

“I’ve looked better, is all I’m saying,” Bucky told him, “You’re friends with me on Facebook. You’ve seen what I used to look like. I used to have it together. I wasn’t this...meat wall."

“Meat wall,” echoed Steve, but before Bucky could elaborate, he powered on, “Buck, I’m not asking out Bucky Barnes from 2008. I want Bucky Barnes from 2018. Since the first day I saw you...God, Buck, don’t you know how amazing you are? I know you’ve never seen yourself talk a kid down from a tantrum and find them a book they’ll love in the same five minutes, but I have. I’ve watched you sweet-talk parents into giving new books a chance, and there was that time you helped out the little boy who had trouble sounding out words. You found him the audiobook so he could follow along. And you’re goddamned gorgeous to boot.”

“I’m,” was all that Bucky got out, glancing down to his closing-shift apparel. He’d gone for his softest, borderline-dress-code-breaking black jeans and a red henley – nothing to write home about. Nothing like Steve’s tattoos and jewelry and general supreme sense of self. He ended his broken sentence with, “but you,” which made no sense at all.

“I’m bad at going out in public,” Bucky mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He couldn’t sit with his back to the door. When he went out to dinner with his sister Becca, she ordered for him so he didn’t have to stutter to a stranger about what he wanted to eat. Crowds sent him spiraling, and noise rattled in his skull so hard his head ached.

Steve shrugged a shoulder. “All right. Then you could come over, or I could go over to your place. We can watch a movie, pop some popcorn. Something lowkey. No expectations.”

That tempted Bucky more than he could possibly convey. He believed Steve about having zero expectations, for one, which was not something that he could say of every man that he had deigned to date. He could envision an evening with the two of them, curled up together on Bucky’s big, ugly, overstuffed couch, eating snacks and making snarky commentary at the television.

“How about tonight?” blurted Bucky.

Steve blinked. “Tonight?”

“I mean, it’s okay if you have plans already. I thought, um,” Bucky fumbled for something to remedy his awkwardness, reached into his brain for something, anything, and found it an empty void, unable to help a guy out.

Steve smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he reached out across the counter to put his hand on top of Bucky’s. He said, “Buck. Tonight’s perfect.”

“Oh. Great. Good. I’ll see you – after our shifts end, then.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to the empty Wonder Woman mug. “After some coffee, though, right?”

He didn’t charge Bucky for his latte.

**

When Bucky slid out the back door of the library, Steve was waiting for him in the small loading area, where the delivery guys for the district came to drop off and pick up plastic tubs of book holds from and for other libraries. The sun set hours ago, and streetlamps lit the trees that surrounded the buildings, casting red and gold leaves in colorful silhouettes as Steve and Bucky walked to their cars. They agreed upon meeting at Bucky’s apartment, only a ten minute drive away.

Bucky’s apartment wasn’t anything to write home about. Being that he hadn’t known he would have company, he left some dishes in the sink and clothes on his floor. He got his olive-green couch at a Goodwill, and his television left much to be desired.

His true pride and joy came in the form of mismatched bookcases all along one wall of the living space, crammed from top to bottom with an impressive collection of every genre under the sun. He devoted an entire case to his comics, mostly in trade paperback form, some omnibuses for his favorite series, and others he couldn’t wait for stacked issue by issue along the bottom shelf. The unfortunate piles of his yet-to-be-read books lay stacked at knee-height around the shelves and on top of them, after he ran out of room.

These days, he could talk himself out of buying a book he hadn’t read by reasoning that he could borrow it from work, but if he liked it enough, he bought it anyway.

His nephew loved visiting his apartment, because Bucky’s children’s book collection rivaled that of a parent’s. He’d trace covers in bookstores, or at one of the library’s fundraising book sales, and he’d think about how someday, maybe, he’d have a kid of his own to share them with. For now, he’d read them to Charlie, reinforcing the memorization of Cat in the Hat until his brain melted down to nothing but Dr. Seuss rhymes.

Steve whistled when he walked through the front door. “And I thought my book collection was bad,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, fondly examining his treasured collection, “Sometimes I get carried away. I’m reading this one right now, called _Dr. Mutter’s Marvels_. It’s about Thomas Mutter, this doctor in the nineteenth century. He revolutionized surgical medicine and, man, Steve he was so ahead of his time, it’s actually – ah. Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” asked Steve, “I like hearing you talk about what you like to read.”

“I think science books are my favorite,” Bucky said, “Graphic novels second. History is third, maybe? Romance is good, too, when you want to read something with real well-written characters.”

“I like history,” agreed Steve, “and I liked all the books you put up on your pride display, that one time.”

“You read them?” asked Bucky.

“Yeah, of course I did,” Steve answered.

“Every last one?”

“You recommended them,” said Steve, “I figured they had to be good.”

Bucky wanted to kiss Steve’s too-big smile right off of his pretty, narrow face. He wanted to hold Steve against him and wrap him up in his arms, wanted to feel every edge and corner and know it like he knew himself.

So Bucky asked, “May I kiss you?”

Steve didn’t answer in words. He closed the three feet between them, propped his bejeweled hands on either one of Bucky’s massive shoulders, and stood on his tiptoes to push his mouth to Bucky’s. A small, surprised noise made its way out of Bucky’s lungs before he dipped down to return the kiss with equal zeal.

He was kissing Steve.

Bucky was kissing beautiful barista Steve. Steve, who tasted like espresso and skin. Bucky made a soft, approving sound in his throat, hooked his prosthesis behind Steve’s skinny waist, and hauled him up to kiss him harder. Steve didn’t miss a beat. He coiled his legs around Bucky’s waist and hung on, breaking their kiss only to remark, “Holy shit, you are strong.”

“I have to be ‘cause, uh, arm,” Bucky explained.

“I like it,” Steve told him, and leaned back in to kiss him again.

Bucky walked them to the couch, where he propped Steve on top of the back, leveraging him as close as he could get. In his practical jeans (ones that actually fit his thighs, and he would therefore wear into the ground), his cock started to thicken. Oh boy. He pulled back a little bit, startled.

“What’s up?” Steve asked, “You okay?”

“I’m, uh, funny thing, actually,” Bucky said, wading through words and stringing them together in whatever configuration they first decided to land in his head. He stopped before he got ahead of himself. Rather than spitting out more word soup, he gestured, helpless, to what was unmistakably an erection against the front of his pants.

Steve’s eyes darted from the situation at hand to Bucky’s blushing face. “You want me to blow you?”

“You don’t have to,” was what Bucky’s mouth decided to say, while his brain screamed, _I would like that very much, thank you._

“I offered,” Steve told him, “So whaddaya say?”

“Please,” Bucky replied.

Steve slid his hands from Bucky’s shoulders to his chest, guiding him back away from the couch. He leapt down, feet light against the carpet, and sank to his knees.

Oh no.

Steve looked even more beautiful from there, gazing up at Bucky through long eyelashes. He reached for the fly of Bucky’s jeans without an ounce of hesitation, unzipping and tugging them down to his ankles. Face flushed, Steve grabbed at the backs of Bucky’s thighs. He felt along the thick, muscled flesh, and said, “God, Buck, I love your thighs.”

“You...do?”

“Yeah,” was the breathy response, “You know what I got to thinking, watching you walk around the library?”

“What – what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about your thighs, having them on me. I thought, ‘I want to be fucking suffocated by those thighs.’ You know?”

“I do now,” Bucky timidly managed.

Steve grinned a salacious grin. He grabbed at Bucky’s erection through his underwear, boring navy boxer briefs. If Bucky had known that morning that he’d be getting a blowjob tonight, he might have opted for underwear with a little more pizzazz.

Oh well.

Steve shoved the underwear aside. Bucky’s cock wasn’t over-long, but his girth was wide. Steve didn’t touch him, didn’t taste him. His hot breath ghosted against the sensitive skin as he seemed to admire Bucky’s neglected erection. Then, he leaned in and sucked the head into his mouth. Electricity zapped from Bucky’s cock down his thighs and up in his belly, pooling and fizzing. He pushed his hand into Steve’s gold hair, not tugging, but petting.

“Steve,” he breathed.

“Mm,” Steve answered, humming around Bucky’s cock.

Steve knew what he was doing. He played Bucky like a fiddle, pulling up and down, drawing back to pay special attention to the head of Bucky’s erection, to lap and lick along the slit to tongue along the underside of his cock. Bucky’s balls drew up before he had time to think about it. He said, “Shit, Steve, I’m gonna –”

And Steve gripped Bucky’s ass in his cold hands, doubling down, crooked nose closing in on Bucky’s pubic hair as he swallowed him down. Bucky’s hips rolled forward of their own accord, tiny thrusts that hit the back of Steve’s throat. His orgasm clenched him like a fist milking him for all he was worth, and he moaned, gripping Steve’s hair too tight.

Steve pulled back and wiped his smirk on the back of his arm.

“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he admitted.

“You have?”

Steve nodded and nosed along the inside of Bucky’s thigh. Shit, if Bucky knew this was gonna happen, not only would he have gone for some more flashy underwear, but he might have done a little manscaping. Steve didn’t seem to mind the hairy state of him, though, as he pressed a line of kisses down the muscled stretch of Bucky’s legs.

At the end of one kiss, he asked, “So? Movie?”

“Don’t you wanna – you know,” Bucky said.

“Only if you want to,” Steve replied, “I don’t wanna pressure you or nothin’.”

Bucky offered Steve a hand and pulled him up. Having a conversation about sex, ironically, somehow wasn’t right with Steve on his knees while Bucky stood pantsless in the middle of his living room. He fidgeted, a little thrill thrumming in his chest as he offered, “You said,” – he swallowed, wet his lips, gathered his courage – “You said you like my – my thighs. You could. You could fuck them. If you wanted.”

Steve’s eyes went dark. “Yeah?” he prompted.

Bucky nodded, and Steve jumped at him. He held Bucky’s face in his hands and yanked him into a hot, hard kiss. Bucky went along, content to be manhandled by the most gorgeous spitfire he’d ever had the joy of tasting.

Then, Steve skirted his fingers over Bucky’s prosthesis, weaving their fingers together: shining, thick metal laced with knobby, ring-riddled and tattooed. He brought Bucky’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Bucky didn’t feel it the same way he would have against his flesh hand, but the sensors told him that something was pressing against him, light as a feather.

With their hands together, Bucky kicked off his jeans and underwear, then tugged Steve to his bed, across his studio apartment. The plaid comforter lay askew and the pillows scattered, but Steve didn’t seem to care. He let go of Bucky’s hand to throw his body back on the mattress, bouncing, and laughed. Bucky followed suit, his bounce smacking the headboard against the wall.

He silent a silent apology to his neighbors. Then, Bucky dipped his hand into the top drawer of his bedside table. He kept a lot of crap in there – bottles of lube, a couple of toys, a pair of leather cuffs for more adventurous partners – but went for a classic, a thick, half-empty bottle of lube, no flavor, no frills. He tossed it to Steve, whose pleased grin went ever-wider, so beautiful that Bucky had to kiss it off of him.

“You wanna get naked?” asked Steve.

Bucky nodded again. He was self-conscious of his scars, self conscious about his thick middle, but Steve had more than proven that he was the last person that would judge Bucky for his insecurities. No, he watched with hunger in his face as Bucky pulled the henley off, freeing the full weight of his prosthesis, his muscled arms, and his meaty torso.

“God,” Steve said, working open the buttons on his shirt.

Nude, Steve was more gorgeous than Bucky could ever have imagined. A star tattoo spread between his flat pecs, his body slender, but coiled with surprising strength. Images and tattoos in every style imaginable spread from shoulder to fingers. He was a living, breathing piece of art, and Bucky wanted to trace every piece with his tongue, all the way down to Steve’s red cock, heavy with desire. He wasn’t cut like Bucky was, but hell, he looked good enough to eat.

Another time, Bucky thought, and Steve rolled him onto his belly. He climbed over Bucky’s backside, and fondled his ass, squeezing gently as he took up the lube. He groped around, exploring Bucky’s body before he poured slick between Bucky’s closed thighs. Bucky jumped at the cool sensation, a soft gasp leaving him.

Steve leaned over Bucky, pressing firm, tender kisses along the length of Bucky’s spine.

When he straightened again to sitting, Steve propped one open palm on Bucky’s shoulder as he wet his cock with lube. The hot push of Steve’s cock between Bucky’s thighs made him moan. On another night, he could find out what that would feel like inside him. Now, the slide of dick against the insides of his legs sent shivers through Bucky’s body.

Before Steve began to fuck into the cradle of Bucky’s thighs in earnest, he put his other hand on the opposite shoulder. Both palms were cold and perfect, the warm lines of silver rings nipping into Bucky’s skin as the first thrust smacked their bodies together. The wet sound of skin on skin resounded in the empty apartment. Bucky shook under Steve’s weight, somehow fucked-out and raring to go all at once. He turned his head, craned his neck to he could watch Steve chase his pleasure.

Steve’s brow knit together in concentration.

“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” Steve told him. Bucky preened under the praise, warmth unfurling in his stomach, so potent his head went dizzy with it. Steve liked him back, Steve thought he was beautiful, Steve wanted to fuck his thighs, Steve’s cold hands were holding him down as he drove his cock in and out from between Bucky’s legs.

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky encouraged, “Go harder. Come on me. C’mon, c’mon.” He knew he was babbling, but he didn’t care. He wanted to make Steve feel as good as Steve had made him feel.

“One of these days,” Steve panted, “I’m gonna lay you out, and I’m gonna taste every inch of you. I’m gonna kiss you everywhere, except where you want me to be, and I won’t let you come ‘til you’re wrecked and begging me.”

“Please,” was about all that Bucky had to say about that.

Steve fucked harder, his hands a heavy, reassuring weight on Bucky’s back. His hands were large for his body, the kind of hands Bucky might like to have working him open, or stuffed in his mouth. He tipped his ass up, only a little, but Steve pulled back and smacked across his flank. He said, “Stay where I put you, Buck,” in a low, dangerous voice. Bucky pressed his hips right back down against the bed. Steve fucked harder into the slick, tight space between Bucky’s muscled thighs. Tiny noises puffed up from him, a string of _oh-ah-fuck_. His hips worked in harder, in rolling, filthy thrusts.

“’Bout to come,” Steve warned him, before slamming their bodies together in a final, echoing slap. Warm liquid painted the space between Bucky’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Steve said, and didn’t that sum it up? He peeled off of Bucky and landed on his back on the other side of Bucky’s queen mattress, chest heaving. His ribs pressed out against sex-pinked skin, and hazy eyes shined with affection – only to frown. Steve reached behind his back, and pulled out a dogeared copy of _Carry On,_ marked in the middle with one of the library’s free bookmarks _._ He turned his belly-melting smile on Bucky and said, “This was in your pride display. I liked it.”

“Gay wizards. It’s a comfort read,” Bucky answered, voice smothered by his pillow, “I like to reread it when I’m feeling crappy.” 

Steve hummed a happy sound, then closed the space between them to apply to a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose. He moved onto Bucky’s lips with something slower, more tender.

“We get to do this again, right?” Bucky asked.

Steve chuckled against Bucky’s mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he said. “We can do this whenever you want.”

**

The following afternoon, Bucky knocked on the doorframe of his boss’s office. Carol’s blond head shot up from behind her computer screen, carefully-gelled faux-hawk rising up from her concentration. Her lips peeled into a gracious smile, and she gestured him in.

“Bucky,” she greeted, “What can I do for you?"

Bucky sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He wrung his hands on top of a pile of paperwork, which was balanced on top of a stray library book.

“Everything going okay over in children’s?” Carol asked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Bucky said, “I just wanted to – uh, needed to – tell you? A thing?”

Carol wheeled her chair further out to face him. “What’s going on?” She always looked sharp, dressed to the nines in a navy pantsuit and poppy-red blouse.

“Me n’ Steve,” he said, “We’re in a relationship sort of thing. I know we’re supposed to tell you. So here I am. Telling you.”

“Finally,” Carol exhaled. “Jesus, Barnes, is that it? You have my blessing. Now get back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky snarked. Carol rolled her eyes at him, and Bucky left, heading toward the children’s library to prepare for the after-school storytime.

He’d make a pitstop at the cafe.

**Author's Note:**

> Love,
> 
> A Library Barista
> 
> (PS, you can find me on twitter @thepinupchemist, which is where I post updates about writing and yell about fandom)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [coffee and a kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275844) by [ivyclimbing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyclimbing/pseuds/ivyclimbing)




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